


Love is the Death of Duty

by sansaswildlinglover



Series: The Dragon Prince and His Lady Wolf [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Rhaegar, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20109121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen is King of the Seven Kingdoms, with his two Queens, Elia and Lyanna by his side.Prince Aemon has been fostered at Winterfell since he was twelve, and at twenty he's being called back to the capital to marry Margaery Tyrell. Margaery is said to be sweet and pretty, and a better match than a legitimised bastard prince could hope for, but he doesn't want her.Following in his father's footsteps, he's fallen in love with a Stark girl; the same Stark girl who is travelling south with him to marry his half-brother Aegon.





	Love is the Death of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabble Event, Day 1: Love and Duty. Also sort of fits day 2's prompt 'firsts', but part 2 of this series will be dedicated to that one.

Aemon pressed his lips to the inside of Sansa's thigh, nuzzling it and holding her hips as the tremors of her climax subsided and her hands went slack in his curls. He licked the crease of her thigh, peppering her maiden hair with kisses, parting her lower lips with his fingers to dive back in for another round.

"Try to be more quiet this time," he warned her. They had been given the best chambers at the Fairmarket Inn, as was befitting a member of the royal family and a lady of house Stark, but the walls were still thin, and the place was crowded.

Sansa steered him away from her core, pulling him up until he was lying in the cradle of her thighs, arms braced on either side of her head and looking down at her. He leaned in to kiss her, moaning at the thought she'd be able to taste herself on his lips and tongue.

As they parted for breath, he moved down to lay his head on her breasts. He listened to her heart until he noticed her breathing becoming more shallow until she inhaled deeply and muttered: "I hear Margaery Tyrell is very pretty."

"I don't want to talk about Margaery Tyrell," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

She was quiet for a moment. "It might help, you know. You may come to love her."

"My brother is also _pretty," _he spat. "You may come to love him, too."

She cupped his cheek, forcing him to look up at her. "I could never," she swore, her voice trembling. "I will only ever love you, Jon."

He smiled at her use of the nickname she and her siblings had given him during his years in Winterfell. "And I love you," he answered, capturing her lips in a desperate kiss. 

"Then love me properly," she sighed, pulling her knees up so her thighs fell open to welcome him.

"Sansa," he hissed as his half-hard manhood pressed against her wet heat through the thin barrier of his smallclothes. "We can't."

"Why not? You know I lost my maidenhead when I fell off my horse five years ago. Mother had seven septas record it, to safeguard my marriage possibilities."

He nudged her nose with his own. "I won't dishonour you like that."

Her answering smile made his insides melt. "Your love could never dishonour me."

He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, their legs still tangled. "The rest of the world would disagree. You're not married to Aegon yet, but you've been betrothed since the day you were born. It would be treason."

She brushed a stray curl from his temple. "And that thing you do with your mouth, that's not treason?"

He groaned, pressing his forehead against hers as he pulled her closer. "Sansa, please. It's different. It's a line we shouldn't cross."

But if they did, it wouldn't be the first they crossed. He'd first kissed her in Winterfell's Godswood. He had happened upon her on his way to the Heart Tree. In the seven years he'd spent in Winterfell, he'd taken up praying to the Old Gods of his mother's family. She'd asked him to help her braid some winter roses into her hair.

With the snow twirling down around them, her blue eyes laughing, her cheeks flushed from the cold, the sweet scent of her hair filling his nostrils and the silky strands of it between his fingers, he hadn't been able to resist pressing a soft kiss to her lips, and to his surprise, she'd kissed him back. 

He had first tasted her at Oldstones. Their embraces had become more passionate as she sang with a crown of wildflowers on her head, laughing and dancing as she pretended to be Jenny of Oldstones. Somehow he'd found himself kneeling under her skirts, kissing his way up from her knees until he was feasting on her most intimate place. 

"My life will be over soon," she whispered, pulling him from his reveries. "I want us to love each other as much and as deeply as we can before we reach the capital."

He couldn't do it. How could they allow themselves to have a taste of the life they both wanted, only for it to be taken away so abruptly? There had to be another way. _"You have the wolf blood in you," _his Uncle Ned had told him fondly once, a slight frown creasing his brow. Perhaps it was that wolf blood that pushed him to make his decision.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her. 


End file.
